From all this it will be seen, that if Captain Horton feared Eden's rivalry, he imagined a vain thing. But it was natural that he should be disquieted. His only season of pleasure was at the end of the day, when a reunion took place; for then Mary would lay aside her coldness, and sing duets with him and talk in the old familiar way. But his opportunity came at last.
Arthur took Fan to Exeter one morning to show her the cathedral, and at the same time to pay a visit to an old school-fellow who had a curacy there. Tom Starbrow went with them, and they were absent all day. Constance occupied herself with her writing, and Mary would not leave the house alone, but towards evening they went out for a walk on the cliff together, and there they were unexpectedly joined by Captain Horton and Mr. Northcott, who had apparently been consoling each other. The curate and Constance had some literary matters to discuss, and presently drifted away from the others. Then Mary's face lost its gaiety; even the rich colour faded from her cheeks; she was silent and distressed, then finally grew cold and hard.
“Shall we sit here and rest for a few minutes?” he said at length, as they came to an old bench on the cliff overlooking the sea.
“I am not tired, thank you.”
“But I am, Mary. Or at all events I have an uncomfortable sensation just now, and should like to sit down if you don't mind.”
She sat down without reply, and began gazing seawards, still with that cloud on her face.
“May I speak to you now, Mary?”
“You may speak, but I warn you not to.”
“And if I speak of other things?”
“Then I shouldn't mind.”